Food for thought.

I had my formal review at work this week. It went really well, which I figured it would, despite deep-seeded and unfounded doubts. I've been working at my company for over a year now, which puts me way farther along than I ever saw myself a year ago. Up until an internship I had last year at a marketing company, I had only ever worked at restaurants as a hostess, food runner, kitchen bitch, server, and bartender. I had found kindred spirits amongst bar staff and regulars. I read Raymond Carver and Charles Bukowski. I knew that I would only blossom as a writer if I stayed among my people; the down and out, the romantics, the off-the-beaten-paths. But secretly? Well, secretly I wanted a routine. I wanted to wake up early in the morning, my favorite time of day, and be refreshed. I wanted to hang out at coffee shops on the weekend instead of cutting fruit and mixing bloody marys. I wanted to get a paycheck direct deposited into my bank account instead of waiting for the ATM to sort through all of my cash, spitting back the tattered, folded ones and fives from the night before. I wanted to wear dresses instead of jeans, sandals instead of black sneakers, bangs instead of headbands and bobby pins. I wanted to live in the daytime, to meet other people who lived in the daytime, to use the college degree I was washing pint glasses to pay for, to lie in the grass without counting down the hours until my bar shift began.

Then one day, on one of the first sunny spring days of 2010, I headed to the bar where I'd worked for almost four years. I'd received a voicemail from my manager, something about a scheduling mix up, and decided to just go in rather than calling back. I went in, said hi to my friends that were working, then headed downstairs to the office to work out the kinks in my schedule. Two minutes later, I was told that I had a rotten attitude and that I would no longer be needed. Three minutes later I was standing in front of the bar where I'd served countless SoCo & limes, super sweet cocktails, ice waters, and tabs, and told my friends that I'd just gotten fired. I walked home, sunglasses on, sobbing to Jenna on the phone about what happened.

But even then, in the depths of rejection, confusion, and terror at not being able to pay my bills, I knew that better things were coming to me. Even as my eyes got puffy and I hyperventilated, I knew that I couldn't mourn that which I'd outgrown. While I don't believe I deserved to be fired (let's be honest, who does?), I couldn't argue that my attitude had gone downhill in the months preceding. I was restless, unhappy. I was outgrowing a shell that I'd convinced myself was the only one I'd ever get. Since being fired from my last restaurant gig, I've found a good job at a great company; I've found freelancing opportunities; I've joined a writing group, read so many books, and started a book blog; I've met a wonderful man who makes me happier than I ever thought a romantic relationship was capable; I've traveled to see friends, and aspired for more. While I still have financial fears and utter confusion as to where I see myself in five years, I have proven more capable than I give myself credit for. And that's always reason enough to keep going.

I keep this painful memory as a reminder that no matter how many circumstances I can name, usually the only thing holding me back is myself.

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On inspiration for your aspiration.

"I feel like I haven’t found my calling yet. I feel like I’m a fish floundering on land, unsure of where to go but knowing that this current place isn’t it. Sometimes I don’t think I have a place. Sometimes I’m pretty sure I have about 20 places and it’s on me to find out which one fits at the exact moment I needed it and to know when it’s time to move on or return to an old place."

That's from Ashley at the blog after nine to five today. That quote describes what I was crying into my pillow and at my roommate last night. It started with finding out my boyfriend wouldn't be able to make it to the book bloggers event I'm presenting at tonight, and snowballed into an all out cry out about how my life isn't what I want it to be and how my fear keeps me from doing what I love and want to do. I couldn't have said it better, and definitely didn't say it any better last night with snot on my face. So, here's to learning, growing, and overcoming fears and negativity by sharing them and letting them go, getting smaller until they are a dot in the atmosphere like a released balloon. And, as Spock says:

Dream, dream, dream.

The sun is out today! It's chilly and windy, but not too much of either, just refreshing. Got to work a little early today, I've got my coffee and the last few pages I've read in Joyce Carol Oates' memoir A Widow's Story swirling around in my head.

I've been thinking more about ambitions. I had a funky day yesterday, and I know that it's tied directly to my feeling stuck - in my career and financial situations. My horoscope today said that I can't logistically follow every ambition I have, so I should ruminate before choosing the one I actually want. Funny how those things can be spot on sometimes.

So today, rather than choosing which path to follow, I want to lay them all out, like clothes on a bed, just to see what they look like:

• Bakery owner. I want to make semi-healthy treats that people can enjoy on a rainy day, a sunny day in the park, or at a holiday celebration. I love experimenting with sweets, and I'd love to be able to do that for a living.
• English and Literature teacher. I studied Writing, Literature, and Publishing, and reading/writing fiction will always be my main passion. I've said before that my dream job is any job where I can read and talk about what I've read. I'd be so down to be that nerdy teacher who gushes about books.
• Librarian. Eeeee! This one reflects that last one as well, especially since I'd love to be a librarian in a school, however sparse these job opportunities are these days. Perhaps I'm romanticizing, but I'd love to be a part of kids' experience with books.
• Fiction Editor. Whether at a literary magazine or at a publishing company, the idea of reading new writers' work and fighting for their publication or sending them feedback, the thought makes my ginny tickle. TMI?

Well, that's it for now. I just have to work on getting that pared down a bit. And there's my ongoing side-career of writing fiction that goes hand-in-hand with whatever I decide to do.

What does your list look like? Or, if you already have your dream job, what is it/what's your secret?

Today, the rain came.

I've been thinking about letters a lot lately. Modern conveniences like gchat are a wonder at keeping me in touch with friends who have moved away. We are able to share the mundanities of our lives, creating a closeness and immediacy in friendships not available before. But there is still a place and a purpose for handwritten letters. My friend Crysty and I think of them as journal entries that we send away. Writing letters allows you to pause, reflect, and through a one-sided, meandering conversation, truly connect with and reveal yourself to the other person. Daily meals and fleeting worries fall away; what is left is solid and true, meaningful and private.

It rained overnight, and today it is gray outside. Cool and breezy. I relaxed a bit yesterday, had a beer with Meg after work and discussed my hesitation at revealing that I've been wanting to teach lately. I want to become a licensed teacher and teach reading to elementary students or high school English/Literature. And, strikingly, I felt so much better, just saying it. As though, by speaking it, I've brought my ambitions that much closer to realization. She spoke to her mom - who has been both a teacher and a librarian in Massachusetts - and we have a phone date in the near future. I plan to pick her brain, take notes, and (soon after) take action.

What dreams are you afraid to say aloud?